


The Mother-in-Law

by SCFrankles



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: watsons_woes, Gen, Halloween, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 21:56:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5065852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCFrankles/pseuds/SCFrankles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Mary is away, Dr. Watson receives a visit from his mother-in-law.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mother-in-Law

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the October Spooktacular at Watson's Woes: [Bonus Monthly Prompt #4: Regrets](http://watsons-woes.livejournal.com/1459249.html): "Regrets are ghosts of opportunities lost to time."
> 
> Dr. Watson is the creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
> 
> * * *

In the autumn of the first year of our marriage, my wife was offered the opportunity of a few days away in Scotland with Mrs. Forrester and her family. There was talk of my going with them but I thought it best that I should not take any more time away from my fledgling practice.

And so, early on a chilly October morning, I travelled with Mary to the station and we exchanged a wistful goodbye. Then I returned home alone to my surgery to do my work—ending the day by eating my solitary evening meal and dozing in front of the fire.

I was a little surprised therefore as I came out of my doze to find my wife sitting opposite me.

I furrowed my brow as I moved back to full consciousness. Was something wrong? Why had Mary returned? I concentrated a little more on the figure in front of me and stared, puzzled. Mary had perfect taste in clothing but this dress seemed a trifle dated, and I had not seen it before. I gazed at my wife’s face. Even that seemed somewhat strange and unfamiliar to me. Well, strange but, no, not unfamiliar: a photograph came to mind—a photograph of someone who had died many years before...

I came abruptly to full wakefulness.

_“Mrs. Morstan?”_

She smiled and nodded.

In some shock I considered her more closely. As is traditional in these circumstances, I could look through her body and see the chair behind. But her form was clear enough. The similarity with her daughter could not be ignored—though her face was slightly more youthful than Mary’s.

Mrs. Morstan raised her eyebrows at my examination of her features.

“Four-and-twenty, Doctor Watson. I was four-and-twenty when I died.”

I was startled by how natural her voice sounded. Unlike her form there was nothing ghostly about it.

“So young,” I managed to say, and she smiled again.

“Indeed, but dying does tend to expand one’s horizons, so you must not feel you can patronise me, young man.”

“Of course not, madam.” While one part of my mind was in a turmoil of fear and confusion, apparently the part in charge was still able to remember its manners. I cleared my throat. “I’m afraid you’ve just missed Mary. She has gone to Edinburgh with her former employers.”

“One of the advantages of being a spirit is that I am not constrained by distance. I am often by my daughter’s side, unseen.” Mrs. Morstan leant forward. “It was you I wanted to see.”

I shifted nervously. “Oh, yes?”

She inclined her head. “Doctor Watson, death cruelly took away my opportunity to bring up my child and to be part of her life. However, I am still able to observe her and keep an eye on those who been entrusted with her care. The staff at her school… Her employers…” She gazed at me. “Her husband.”

I was simultaneously amused and unsettled. “I think I am in Mary’s care, rather than the other way round. She is a capable young woman.”

Mrs. Morstan kept her gaze on me. “Nevertheless, in some respects she is at your mercy. There is the matter of your reckless spending…”

I frowned. “That was when I had no responsibilities beyond myself. I am a married man now.”

She continued on. “And you do have a certain… _reputation…”_

I sat up a little straighter. “I hope, madam, that you are not implying I am anything but devoted to your daughter.”

Mrs. Morstan held up a conciliatory hand. “My apologies. A mother does worry.”

“Is there anything else on the list?” I asked coolly, my uppermost emotion now being annoyance rather than concern over the fact I was arguing with a spirit.

“Just your adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmes.”

At that I did feel somewhat embarrassed. For the first few months of our marriage, my attention had been fully on my wife, my new home and my new practice. However, recently I had started accompanying Holmes on some of his cases again.

“I only go with Mary’s permission,” I protested. “And my neighbour Anstruther and I have a mutual arrangement—when necessary I look after his practice. I do not lose money over helping Holmes.”

“But what about time!” Mrs. Morstan slapped the arm of the chair, though there was no answering sound. “When you travel to the other end of the country for several days, is it worth the loss of time away from your wife?”

I frowned and Mrs. Morstan’s expression became softer. “I am not trying to interfere. I simply do not wish you to regret anything.” She looked down. “Take this advice from one who knows about regrets.”

Mrs. Morstan stood.

I rose too. “Are you leaving, madam?”

She smiled and for a moment looked simply a mischievous young woman. “Well, you will not _see_ me any more.”

Indeed she was already becoming more and more insubstantial.

“Do you have a message for Mary? Is there something I should tell her?”

“No, I believe the kindest thing any mother can do for her bereaved child is to allow her to forget her.” Mrs. Morstan looked at me intently. “I simply ask you to look after her.”

“Always,” I said, fervently.

Mrs. Morstan nodded solemnly and in the wink of an eye, she had faded away.

I stood staring for quite some time. Then I took myself off to bed, where oddly I had no difficulty in immediately falling fast asleep.

 

The following morning I packed a few things, left a note for Anstruther, and made my way to the railway station and so on to Edinburgh.

My patients could do without me for one or two days.


End file.
